


Getting Frisky

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, Banter, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Flirting, Frisking, M/M, Pre-War, Roleplay, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: Jazz gets inspired. So does Prowl. Neither of them are complaining.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 39
Kudos: 123





	Getting Frisky

**Author's Note:**

> New year, new fic! I'd love to make this the year I get to 100 works here on Ao3, though I hesitate to make it a hard "resolution" in case that jinxes it XD The last couple of months have been less than ideal for ficcage and I don't know which way things will continue, but I love this fandom and this pairing and I refuse to give them up!
> 
> Beta’d by dragonofdispair

There was a mech pulled over at the side of the road just ahead. Jazz changed lanes to give him and the officer standing beside him plenty of room. It looked like a search was in progress, and he wanted no part of that. 

Getting frisked was not Jazz’s idea of fun. The whole process was invasive and uncomfortable and, more often than not, a complete waste of time. It wasn’t like he went around loading himself down with bits and baubles and contraband on the regular — he was no small time-smuggler! When Jazz stole, he stole to fill a spaceship! 

And sometimes the spaceship itself while he was at it.

In any case, it was rare for him to carry anything condemning on him, which made it all the more frustrating to sit through a full search. Turn out his subspace pockets? Still invasive, but at least it was quick. Stand still while a cop ran his hands all over his frame looking for secret compartments? No thank you! 

Un~ _less_ the cop in question was Prowl. Hmmm… The thought, once formed, lodged itself in Jazz’s processor and refused to be dismissed. Now  _ there _ was a pair of hands he wouldn’t mind getting frisked by! He could almost feel those clever, confident fingers roaming over his plating, pressing at seams and tweaking cables. The burgeoning fantasy was real enough to spark a shiver of want so strong he wobbled in his lane. 

_ Frag. _

Acting on impulse, Jazz altered course and took the next exit off the freeway without slowing down to match the local limit. Prowl was on patrol nearby and there was no better way to catch his attention than speeding.

Sure enough, the tell-tale red and blue lights appeared in Jazz’s rearview in a matter of kliks, accompanied by sirens signaling him to pull over. Tempting as it was, Jazz resisted the urge to gun his engine and put on his brakes instead. Now was not the time for a chase.

“I’d ask for your ID and registration,” Prowl said with a mix of exasperation and amusement when he pulled to a stop beside him, “but I have your information in a template for faster citations.”

“Aww, I’m flattered.” Jazz gave a flirty rock on his tires. “So what am I guilty of? Criminal cuteness?”

“Hardly,” Prowl scoffed, but Jazz felt an appreciative scan sweep over his frame. Somebody liked what he saw. “Do you know how fast you were driving?”

He knew  _ exactly  _ how fast he’d been driving. “Too fast, I’m guessing?”

“Considerably so. You were doing twenty-two over the speed lim—”

“Fifteen.” 

“—it… no, twenty-two—”

“Okay, sixteen.”

“—I’m not saying it again—”

“Fine, fine; seventeen, take it or leave it.”

“What are you— You can’t haggle over how much you were speeding!” 

Prowl was so indignant that Jazz couldn’t help laughing, which of course only made the spikes of irritation in his EM field more pronounced. “Can you blame a mech for trying?” Jazz asked with another cheeky tire wiggle before he could get truly angry.

“Maybe not, but I can write a mech a ticket for doing  _ twenty-two,” _ Prowl emphasized, “over the limit.” 

A notification popped up on Jazz’s HUD, officially informing him of his new(est) traffic violation. “Wow. That was quick.” But it wasn’t what he was after. “Is that your last ticket for the cycle?”

There was the briefest of pauses before Prowl answered. “My shift just ended,” he said, turning off his flashers. “You timed that suspiciously well.”

“Or poorly, considering that fine I have to pay now.” Twenty-two over was a bigger ticket than anything in the teens! The whole haggling bit hadn’t been entirely for laughs, for all the good it had done. “What if I don’t have the money?” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before burning rubber in my jurisdiction. Speaking of which,” Prowl said with trepidation, “do I want to know why you decided on that particular course of action?”

“Search me.” 

Prowl sighed. “If you don’t know why—”

“No,” Jazz interrupted, rocking again on his tires and flicking a few panels in blatant invitation.  _ “Search me.” _

“Oh.” There. That time the hint landed. Prowl’s engine ticked up several RPMs. “I don’t have probable cause.”

“Don’t let that stop you. You’re not on the clock, remember?” And that timing  _ had  _ been deliberate; the kind of search Jazz wanted him to perform wasn’t something he wanted in an official police report, no matter how redacted. Still, “If you don’t want to, just say the word and I’ll drive off.”

Luckily Prowl was game despite Jazz springing the whole thing on him with no warning. “Oh, I can’t let you drive off. You could be transporting illicit materials.” There was a distinct leer in his field now. “I’m afraid there’s no choice but for you to submit to a full-frame search.”

Yes! “I won’t resist, officer.”

“I should hope not. You do, however, have the right to request the search be performed in a more private setting. Do you want to exercise this right?”

“No,” Jazz said, plating itching in anticipation. The sidestreet he’d stopped on wasn’t a busy one, and the minimal chance someone might guess what they were doing as they drove by just added to the thrill. “Here’s fine.”

“Good. Remain in alt mode,” Prowl said before transforming to root mode himself. Jazz tracked him with his sensors as he walked around behind him, one hand trailing over the curve of his wheel well. “Do you have anything to declare before I begin?”

“Uhm… Nope.” 

Prowl chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

“Guess you’ll just have to find whatever you think I’m hiding then,” Jazz said, mentally cataloging his current cargo. There wasn’t much, and the sticky snack wrappers he’d subspaced instead of finding a trash can was the worst of the lot. “Good luck.”

He’d meant the words as a joke, but Prowl clearly took them as a challenge. Jazz let out a startled squeak when he felt Prowl’s fingers on his rear bumper, sweeping over the housing for his brake and tail lights with efficient strokes to check that they were firmly seated and not hiding anything before dropping to his undercarriage to get a handful of his suspension. “Excuse you!”

“Excuse me? For what?”

“For getting so familiar so quickly!”

“I’m sorry,” Prowl said, sounding no such thing as he took his sweet time fondling the exposed sections of Jazz’s brake lines, “was I not clear about just what a  _ full-frame  _ search would entail?”

“Not especially,” Jazz huffed — huffed! Not gasped! “Anyway, last time I was frisked the mech didn’t start  _ there _ .”

“I might be deviating from the standard procedure a little,” Prowl conceded with a delightfully sharp pinch of hydraulic tubing. “If you want me to stop…” 

“No!” Primus, he was fiddling with the hose fittings now. That had no business being so erotic! “No, you don’t have to stop,” and okay, this time he totally gasped, “but I don’t see how what you’re doing constitutes a search for hidden compartments.”

“I’m not searching for hidden compartments. I’m searching for anything illicit.”

“What you’re doing with those hands is illicit.”

“And eliciting quite the response. Case in point—”

“Hkkgk!”

Prowl’s engine revved. Jazz could practically feel him grinning with satisfaction right before shifting his attention from Jazz’s undercarriage to the hidden transformation seams surrounding his rear tires. Those weren’t as sensitive as what he’d been playing with, but he had to lean in close to reach them and Jazz could feel Prowl’s heated ex-vents blowing across the panel covering one of his external access ports. Did he—

“Nngyah!” Yes! Yes, he did know where he was licking now, teasing in a way that was surely meant to get Jazz to open up. “N-nothin’ in there Prowler,” Jazz said, holding onto the reigns of his control as best he could. “Try somewhere else.”

“Hmm.” Prowl squeezed his tires, circling each rim seductively before drawing back and leaving Jazz briefly bereft of touch. Static sparked and popped over Jazz’s plating where another high-powered scan met his steadily charging EM field. “I’m going to check  _ everywhere  _ else.”

He wasn’t kidding. Jazz shivered, squeaked and eventually outright moaned as Prowl made good on his promise and systematically examined every single inch of Jazz’s alt mode, inside  _ and  _ out. He was so worked up by the time Prowl demanded he pop open his doors and began running his hands all over his interior that he couldn’t stop the overload from surging through his lines and grounding through Prowl.

“Just imagine if your array was accessible in this form,” Prowl purred against his dash, fingers snaking into his transmission suggestively, and the electricity arcing to him redoubled as a second, smaller overload followed on the first at the thought.

Normally getting frisked took about a breem. It was nearly a joor of protracted pleasure later when Prowl finally declared his search complete. 

“Alright, citizen,” he said, clapping a hand down on Jazz’s steaming hood. There was so little strength left in his suspension that he bottomed out on the pavement just from Prowl leaning on him. “I think we’re done here.”

“Told you I was clean,” Jazz joked over the sound of his fans pulling air into his engine through wide-open vents. “Primus. We have  _ got  _ to do that again.”

“Agreed,” Prowl said immediately. “With one condition.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Desire glowed hot in Prowl’s optics. “Next time you frisk me.”


End file.
